The First Mistake(6)

‘But the project . . .’ he calls out after me. ‘What about the project?’ I don’t answer, leaving him to fill in the blanks.

I’m shaking when I get to the car and fumble with the handle, slamming the door behind me in indignation. How dare he presume that this would be anything other than a business meeting?

I look down at my blouse, undone by one button too many, and I slam the steering wheel in frustration. ‘Shit!’ I call out loud. What was I thinking? Aren’t I as guilty as he is? What message had I relayed in my pathetic attempt to recapture a time long since passed? But then I pull myself up. No. However I choose to dress does not give him the right to invade my personal space.

In my incandescent rage I’d forgotten that Nathan had been trying to call me and as I look at my phone, I notice I’ve missed twelve calls from him and one from the girls’ school.

‘Shit! Shit!’ I say as my mouth goes dry. My heart feels like it’s beating at double speed.

‘Nathan, it’s me,’ I blurt out when he picks up. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Where are you?’ he asks.

‘I’m just out of a meeting,’ I say, my voice frantic. ‘What is it? Are the girls okay?’

‘It’s Livvy,’ he says.

I feel like I can’t breathe.

‘Wh-what is it?’ I stutter, already working out the quickest way to get to her. I’m turning the key in the ignition but it’s not starting. Panic is building within me as I try it again and again. In a split second of clarity I remember that I need to put my foot on the brake first.

‘What’s happened? Where is she? Is she okay?’ The questions are all coming at once.

‘She’s fine,’ he says. ‘But she’s had a little accident at school.’

‘What kind of accident?’ I ask, leaving rubber on the road as I screech out of the Temple Homes car park and head in the direction of the school.

‘It sounds like she’s hit her head.’

It physically hurts as I inhale. ‘Oh God.’

‘Okay, now listen to me,’ he says, his voice suddenly authoritative. ‘I want you to take some deep breaths and calm down.’

I try to do what he says, but my lungs don’t feel like they’re working. They’re not letting in the air that I need. My breaths are coming in short, sharp pants as I will the learner driver in front of me to put their foot down.

‘Alice, listen to me,’ says Nathan again. ‘I need you to slow everything down and just concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, long and slow.’

If I could close my eyes it would be easier, but cars seem to be coming at me from every angle. Cutting across my path, pulling out in front of me. Horns are blaring but I can’t tell where they’re coming from or who they’re directed at.

‘You okay?’ asks Nathan. I nod through pursed lips. ‘Alice?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Do you want me to stay on the line until you get there, or shall I let them know you’re on your way?’

‘Can you call them?’ I ask.

‘Where are you? How long will it take?’

‘I’ve . . . j-just left Temple Homes headquarters.’

I stutter because I genuinely can’t remember where I am, not because I’m trying to hide anything.

‘Where are you?’ I ask.

‘I’ve just left the airport and I was going to go straight to the office if that’s all right with you.’

‘Yes, I’ll see you at home then.’

‘Call me once you’re with Livvy,’ he says. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

It only occurs to me then that he doesn’t know about the conversation I had with Miss Watts this morning. I wonder if the problem is bigger than either of us thought.

‘They don’t sound that concerned,’ he goes on. ‘They’re probably just worried about concussion and need to cover their backs.’

I end the call and turn up the radio in an attempt to drown out the noise in my brain.

When I reach the school, I park in the space reserved for the headmaster and half walk, half run into reception, trying hard not to look how I feel.

‘Ah, hello Mrs Davies,’ says Carole, the school secretary, careful to keep her tone upbeat. I’m quite sure they have a file on me with the words ‘Handle with care – unexpectedly widowed’ written in big red marker pen. ‘Nothing to worry about, it’s just that Olivia had a little fall.’

‘Is she okay?’ I ask, following her through the double doors.

The unmistakable stench of boiled cabbage wafts under my nose as my heels click-clack on the polished wooden floor of the dining hall. It’s the same smell as my school dinner thirty years ago, even though we didn’t have boiled cabbage then, and Olivia doesn’t have it now. I know, because she memorizes the menu every week and tells me what she’s having day by day. I almost feel sorry for her that chocolate sponge and chocolate custard, the monthly treat that was part of the staple diet of inner London schools back in the day, is no longer offered. But even on those special days, the school still smelt like rancid vegetables, and I find myself wondering why that is. Anything to keep my mind off what I’m about to be faced with.